[ The soap lathers underneath his hands, and he rakes his fingers through every inch of Iorveth's hair until it's streaked with foam. Iorveth did this for him once, after their night out on the town. (Their possible last night alive, he'd said. A few of those have come and gone by now.) He'd felt awkward with someone else's hands in his hair, had hoped that Iorveth wasn't looking at his scars. What a difference a little bit of time makes.
He leans Iorveth back again to rinse the lather from his hair. Even with it gone, dissipating into the pool, the warm smell of something pleasant remains. Vanilla, perhaps. ]
Careful not to count yourself too lucky. The world as we know it may still end in the next tenday.
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He leans Iorveth back again to rinse the lather from his hair. Even with it gone, dissipating into the pool, the warm smell of something pleasant remains. Vanilla, perhaps. ]
Careful not to count yourself too lucky. The world as we know it may still end in the next tenday.